Juliet
There was a time I didn’t believe in fate.
I read all the fairy-tales, watched movies with star-crossed lovers, but to me it always seemed like the coward’s way out, a way to never make a real choice about your life. When something big happened, or a change came along, I would watch people say, “it’s meant to be,” and let it all just happen, like they were driftwood tumbling in the tide, powerless to stop for one second and decide if it was really what they wanted.
I listened to my friends talk about soul-mates, and I couldn’t understand. How could they act like it was beyond their control, as if they were just pieces of a bigger puzzle, with no say in anything at all?
I didn’t realize: sometimes fate is the hardest choice of all.
That summer, I was on the edge of everything: my future, adulthood, a life of my own design. I’d waited to so long be free from the secrets of my past, it was almost within reach. Just one summer, and I could be gone forever, shed my skin and start fresh somewhere. Be someone new.
And then I crossed the county line into Cedar Cove, and everything changed.
Because that’s the thing I didn’t understand about fate: there’s always a moment when you do have a choice. Standing there in the shallows, watching the wave roll in; feeling its power, knowing it might pull you under, but believing the water will carry your weight all the same.
It’s an act of faith. A miracle.
But you have to decide: give yourself up and surrender to a force far greater than you will ever understand, or turn and walk away—live the rest of your days safe on dry land, knowing that when it mattered most of all, you weren’t brave enough to risk it. You weren’t brave enough to love.
Yes, fate was real, and his name was Emerson Ray. He came crashing into me that summer, sending my plans scattering on the wind, and turning my whole world upside-down with just one wounded smile. I looked at him and knew, there would be nothing easy about our destiny; nothing simple about my surrender.
The only question was, would I be brave enough to take that leap?
Emerson
I wake with a pounding headache, lying next to a girl whose name I don’t remember.
Damn.
I lay there a minute, feeling a familiar burn of self-loathing as I try and think back how I wound up here. There was booze, a lot of it, I can remember that much. A buddy’s band was playing in a dive bar across town, the crowd rowdy and packed with cute coeds. I told the guys I needed to drive back home, but one drink turned into five, and then…
Everything’s a blur.
I glance over at the girl, sprawled naked and face-down on the sheets. I should know her name. Hell, I should remember what her face looks like, but as usual, I’ve got nothing.
I take a breath and try to slip out of bed without waking her. It’s a low move, just bailing, but I learned the hard way, it’s worse if I stay. She’ll want to go for breakfast, snuggle up to me, and make hopeful plans for dinner sometime, when everything in me is screaming to run. So, I let her sleep as I hunt for my jeans and shirt on a messy floor.
The room is small, with photos plastered on every wall. I pause by the door to check the identity of the girl, smiling out from her high-school graduation shot. She’s pretty, I guess. Bright smile, an innocent face. Someone’s daughter, someone’s sister.
I feel sick, and it’s got nothing to do with my raging hangover.
I look over at her body, still slumped, unconscious in bed. I should leave her a note or something, I know. But what would I say?
‘Thanks. I’m not going to call.’
No. Better to be gone, so she can write me off as the bad mistake I really am, and get on with forgetting me.
I let myself out and head down to the street. It takes me a moment to get my bearings, but then I see my truck parked up the block. I clamber up in the cab, still wincing from the pounding in my head. I search through the junk on the passenger seat for a bottle of water, and then I find them: black lace panties, torn at the edge.
Suddenly, it all comes back to me. The flirting over shots. The way she whispered in my ear. How I gave in and kissed her hard and fast, hating myself all the while, but hoping all the same that this time – with this girl – I’d find some escape, a way to forget my life, just for a little while.
But whatever I was looking for, I didn’t find it. And it’s morning now, and nothing’s changed. I’m still the no-hope kid of two messed-up losers who had no business being parents in the first place. I’m still stuck in some nothing small town, working three jobs to keep us all afloat. Still doing everything I can to make sure my younger siblings don’t wind up like me.
Shit.
I grab my cellphone, already feeling a rush of guilt as I dial my little sister. “Hey, Brit, you OK?”
She answers sounding pissed, but I don’t blame her. “I’m fine. What happened to you?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t make it back like I said.” I lean my head back to rest it against the seat, closing my eyes against the harsh glare of morning light. “Is everything OK there?”
“I don’t know,” Brit drawls. “There was a party, I wound up crashing at Keira’s.”
“Brit!” I exclaim, angry. Ever since she turned fifteen, she’s been pushing hard at the few rules I try to lay down. “What did we say about your curfew?”
“I don’t know why I have to go home if none of you do.” Brit replies, and although her voice is petulant, I hear a tremble in it.
There was a time I didn’t believe in fate.
I read all the fairy-tales, watched movies with star-crossed lovers, but to me it always seemed like the coward’s way out, a way to never make a real choice about your life. When something big happened, or a change came along, I would watch people say, “it’s meant to be,” and let it all just happen, like they were driftwood tumbling in the tide, powerless to stop for one second and decide if it was really what they wanted.
I listened to my friends talk about soul-mates, and I couldn’t understand. How could they act like it was beyond their control, as if they were just pieces of a bigger puzzle, with no say in anything at all?
I didn’t realize: sometimes fate is the hardest choice of all.
That summer, I was on the edge of everything: my future, adulthood, a life of my own design. I’d waited to so long be free from the secrets of my past, it was almost within reach. Just one summer, and I could be gone forever, shed my skin and start fresh somewhere. Be someone new.
And then I crossed the county line into Cedar Cove, and everything changed.
Because that’s the thing I didn’t understand about fate: there’s always a moment when you do have a choice. Standing there in the shallows, watching the wave roll in; feeling its power, knowing it might pull you under, but believing the water will carry your weight all the same.
It’s an act of faith. A miracle.
But you have to decide: give yourself up and surrender to a force far greater than you will ever understand, or turn and walk away—live the rest of your days safe on dry land, knowing that when it mattered most of all, you weren’t brave enough to risk it. You weren’t brave enough to love.
Yes, fate was real, and his name was Emerson Ray. He came crashing into me that summer, sending my plans scattering on the wind, and turning my whole world upside-down with just one wounded smile. I looked at him and knew, there would be nothing easy about our destiny; nothing simple about my surrender.
The only question was, would I be brave enough to take that leap?
Emerson
I wake with a pounding headache, lying next to a girl whose name I don’t remember.
Damn.
I lay there a minute, feeling a familiar burn of self-loathing as I try and think back how I wound up here. There was booze, a lot of it, I can remember that much. A buddy’s band was playing in a dive bar across town, the crowd rowdy and packed with cute coeds. I told the guys I needed to drive back home, but one drink turned into five, and then…
Everything’s a blur.
I glance over at the girl, sprawled naked and face-down on the sheets. I should know her name. Hell, I should remember what her face looks like, but as usual, I’ve got nothing.
I take a breath and try to slip out of bed without waking her. It’s a low move, just bailing, but I learned the hard way, it’s worse if I stay. She’ll want to go for breakfast, snuggle up to me, and make hopeful plans for dinner sometime, when everything in me is screaming to run. So, I let her sleep as I hunt for my jeans and shirt on a messy floor.
The room is small, with photos plastered on every wall. I pause by the door to check the identity of the girl, smiling out from her high-school graduation shot. She’s pretty, I guess. Bright smile, an innocent face. Someone’s daughter, someone’s sister.
I feel sick, and it’s got nothing to do with my raging hangover.
I look over at her body, still slumped, unconscious in bed. I should leave her a note or something, I know. But what would I say?
‘Thanks. I’m not going to call.’
No. Better to be gone, so she can write me off as the bad mistake I really am, and get on with forgetting me.
I let myself out and head down to the street. It takes me a moment to get my bearings, but then I see my truck parked up the block. I clamber up in the cab, still wincing from the pounding in my head. I search through the junk on the passenger seat for a bottle of water, and then I find them: black lace panties, torn at the edge.
Suddenly, it all comes back to me. The flirting over shots. The way she whispered in my ear. How I gave in and kissed her hard and fast, hating myself all the while, but hoping all the same that this time – with this girl – I’d find some escape, a way to forget my life, just for a little while.
But whatever I was looking for, I didn’t find it. And it’s morning now, and nothing’s changed. I’m still the no-hope kid of two messed-up losers who had no business being parents in the first place. I’m still stuck in some nothing small town, working three jobs to keep us all afloat. Still doing everything I can to make sure my younger siblings don’t wind up like me.
Shit.
I grab my cellphone, already feeling a rush of guilt as I dial my little sister. “Hey, Brit, you OK?”
She answers sounding pissed, but I don’t blame her. “I’m fine. What happened to you?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t make it back like I said.” I lean my head back to rest it against the seat, closing my eyes against the harsh glare of morning light. “Is everything OK there?”
“I don’t know,” Brit drawls. “There was a party, I wound up crashing at Keira’s.”
“Brit!” I exclaim, angry. Ever since she turned fifteen, she’s been pushing hard at the few rules I try to lay down. “What did we say about your curfew?”
“I don’t know why I have to go home if none of you do.” Brit replies, and although her voice is petulant, I hear a tremble in it.
